


In The End We'll Surely Lose

by LadyShadowphyre



Series: SoMaA: Sam Squared [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Healthy Coping Mechanisms, Heavy Angst, Lucifer is Called Samael (Supernatural), M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Victor Henriksen, Sam Winchester is Called Samael, Samael Derails Apocalypses As A Hobby, Samcest, Time Travel Shenanigans, Universe Hopping Is A Thing, Winchester Coping Mechanisms (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShadowphyre/pseuds/LadyShadowphyre
Summary: Dean is gone, and Sam is already lost and spiraling before he even sees his brother's shredded corpse. Fortunately for him, and for the world, he has a trans-dimensional Archangel looking out for him.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: SoMaA: Sam Squared [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1457980
Comments: 13
Kudos: 36





	In The End We'll Surely Lose

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SPN Song Challenge Bingo square: Free Space - "Welcome To The Family" by Avenged Sevenfold.
> 
> Also written for Sam Winchester's birthday. Happy birthday, Sammy!

**S** AM HAD KNOWN on an intellectual level what it was he would find when he opened the hotel room door at ten minutes after midnight. There would be no surprise over the sight of his brother's corpse, ripped apart and blood spattering across the floor and walls and furniture... No surprise, but the gut-punch of pain that shot through him at the sight still drove him to his knees. His throat hurt, and there was a roaring in his ears that sounded like some wild animal screaming but he couldn't process it beyond the shock and pain and the way everything was blurring and swimming in front of him--

Hands fell to his shoulders and pulled him back against a firm chest. He fought against the grip, fought the pull that way trying to draw him away, away from _Dean_ , and then the blurred and bloody corpse was hidden from him by an equally blurred field of green. The chest behind him rumbled, words he only half understood crooned softly against his ear, a song of pain and mourning shared and the promise that he wasn't alone. The screaming gave way to harsh sobs as Sam shook in the unyielding grip, feeling like he might very well shake apart without the embrace of arms and endless green holding him together.

He didn't know how long they sat there, him sobbing and trembling while the other held him and comforted him. Eventually tears gave way to exhaustion and he slumped into the embrace, let himself be settled against the chest at his back, stared without really seeing at the green feathers flecked with blue and gold. The soft song gave way to more human words, to the beeps of phone numbers being dialed and directions being given in hollow tones that would not have been out of place coming from his own mouth if he had the strength to do more than lie there and let the other take control, take over the calls to Bobby and to Agent Henricksen and Missouri. He didn't even question how the other knew to call those specific people, knew what words to say to them to get things moving on the plans he'd laid back before tonight.

"I'm sorry," he heard finally, murmured next to his ear. "I meant to get here sooner. I didn't want you to have to see that."

"He's really gone," he mumbled, his voice catching in the middle, and felt the other's sigh more than heard it.

"For now, yes," came the quiet response, a world of meaning hidden in the words just beyond where he could focus, could comprehend the message. "I'm sorry."

They fell silent once more, one drifting as the other cradled him. Eventually, one of them began to hum softly as the other curled in close and focused on the rumble and rhythm that covered the unnaturally slow heartbeat. When one of them began to sing along to the soft humming, hoarse and strained but still trying, the other pressed a kiss into tangled brown hair and held him tighter. Both of them sighed and shivered when shaking fingers reached out to trail through silky-soft green feathers that he shouldn't have been able to touch.

"Why...?"

"You needed the solidity. Tactile and visual." A pause. "I'll have to hide them before Vic's team arrives."

A swallow. "What's our time limit?"

"Until I hide my wings and face, 'bout another two hours." A squeeze. "I won't have to go anywhere you aren't for about four months, if you want me to stay."

"Stay." Immediate. Intense. "Please."

"Whatever you need."

Silence, then. Heavier. A weight given shape by virtue of a name that could not be uttered, a life that could not currently be returned. Too raw, too new, even despite the months (a year) to prepare for something that he could not be truly prepared to face ever.

"What am I gonna do now?"

"Grieve," came the immediate answer, along with a gentle touch to his back. "Let yourself feel everything, the anger and the pain and the fear, let it all run through you until it winds back down and you can let it go."

"And then?"

"Then," Samael said as he drew back enough to look down into Sam's upturned tear-stained face, "we get to work."

**V** ICTOR HENRIKSEN ARRIVED with a team of five people Sam only halfway recognized from past meetings with the various FBI agents who had been deemed best able to handle being read into the truth about the supernatural. True to his word, Samael tucked his wings away and did... something... that made his face look like someone else's to everyone except Sam. Or maybe it was just that Sam could see through whatever illusion he'd used, just like he could still see the majestic sweep of green feathers folded neatly against the Archangel's back. He introduced Samael as "William Morgenstern" and then carefully excused himself to sit on the tail of the Impala while the agents cleared the room and recovered the... body.

Vic found him there, staring at the grey dust from the gravel parking lot that coated his boots, and cautiously took a seat beside him. "How're you holding up?"

"About like you'd expect," Sam answered, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a weak, humorless smile at Vic's wince. Because of course Vic would be able to guess how Bonnie was going to handle a dead Clyde. "Better than I would have if I had to do this alone. Thanks for coming out."

"Wasn't sure you'd really call," Vic answered, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Glad you did. Awful thing to go through even with people around to lean on."

Sam said nothing. It was an incredible understatement, and he knew Vic knew that. For a few minutes, they just sat there, side by side, Sam studiously not looking towards the motel room door and Vic studiously pretending not to be watching Sam out of the corner of his eye.

"Know where you're going yet?" he asked finally. "After, I mean."

_ After the burial. _

Sam lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "Bobby's first, probably. After that... it'll probably depend on who all he's got hanging around, how long we stay there."

"'We'?" Sam slanted a sideways look at the surprise in Vic's tone. The other man held up his hands. "Hey, you can't blame me for being a little confused, here. Knew plenty about Winchesters and associates, but I've never heard about Morgenstern."

"He's not exactly from around here," Sam admitted. A flash of green near the door caught his eyes and he glanced up to see Samael stepping out of the room. His eyes found Sam's unerringly, and the two shared a look before Samael used the brothers' "look away" hand signal and stepped away from the door. Sam quickly averted his eyes from the motel as the other agents exited the building with a large black bag Sam forced himself not to look at or think about too closely. Unfortunately, looking away caused him to look back at Vic in time to see the older man giving him a thoughtful look. "What?"

"Just wondering if your friend's name is really William."

"It's as much my name as any other I've gone by," Samael answered as he approached the car, smiling a little at the man in a way that made Sam wonder just how well the Archangel knew his own universe's Agent Henriksen. "It's better you don't ask if I have any others, though, not yet."

Vic made a grunted noise of skeptical agreement, then eyed Sam. "You trust him?"

"About as much as I trust anybody who isn't..." Sam winced and swallowed, still not able to force the name out of his throat yet. "Probably more than I trust you. No offense."

"None taken," Vic caught the attention of one of the agents he'd brought and waved a hand, then held up five fingers. "We following you there, or...?"

"We'll follow you to a gas station a few miles that way," Samael said, pointing off towards the west. "We can fill up and then part ways so you don't have to know anything about any illegal burials."

"You still won't consider a proper cemetery?" Vic asked Sam, who shook his head.

"Too many things live or hunt in cemetaries," Samael said for him, "and enough of them have a grudge against the Winchester family as to make an official grave too tempting of a target. Most hunters never even have a grave, just a pyre in the middle of nowhere and a round at the nearest bar for those left to mourn them."

"Lovely thought," Vic grimaced. "Okay then. Anything in particular you need us to do or not do when we get to that gas station?"

"Act natural and pretend not to know us?" Sam suggested with a shrug. "We know what we're doing, Vic."

"Not doubting you on that one," Vic said, then pushed himself off the car and stretched. "You'll call if something comes up where you need help?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, standing as well. "Really, Vic, thank you."

"Don't mention it," Vic clapped Sam on the shoulder, nodded to Samael, and then headed for the FBI van and his waiting team. Sam and Samael watched as the agents spoke and the van's engine came to life, then got into the Impala, Sam in the driver's seat and Samael riding shotgun as one by one both vehicles were driven out of the motel parking lot.

"Are we really following them to the gas station?" Sam asked, glancing at Samael. The Archangel shrugged.

"Might as well top off the tank," he said. "They won't see a switch happen, but it'll make them think that's where we did it."

"So he's not...?"

"In the trunk already. The agents have a couple of bags full of bloody bedding and some bags of sand."

Sam was silent for a long moment as the tiny convoy pulled out onto the highway heading west towards whatever gas station the agents decided to fill up at. After a mile or so, he said quietly, "I know I told Vic thanks for coming already, but I wanted to thank you, too. I know you think I don't have to, but you know why I have to anyway."

"I know," Samael agreed softly. "You really don't need to thank me, though. I promised you I would be here."

"You gonna let me apologise for how awful I'm probably going to be for the next however long this grieving thing takes me?"

"You can't possibly be as awful as I was the first time around, so no."

"....Can I apologise for making you go through this all over again just to keep me company?"

"No one makes  _ us _ do anything," Samael said with a quiet, sad little smile and a distant look to his eyes when Sam glanced at him. Sam wondered who had said that originally to make his other self look like that when repeating it. A moment later, Samael glanced at him. "Hey, you ever run into a trickster in Ohio?"

"Crawford Hall?" Sam's eyebrows went up. "The dead ethics professor and the researcher eaten by an alligator?"

"And the kid abducted by aliens," Samael smirked faintly. "What'd you think of him?"

"Uh," Sam floundered a little, nonplussed. "Kinda crude? D--  _ he _ really liked his style, even if neither of us were happy about him dropping bodies... Why?"

"Ever run into him a second time?"

Sam stared straight ahead at the road, almost missing the turn-off as he worked through the implications of Samael asking him if he'd met a trickster they had killed back in Ohio a second time. Pulling into the gas station practically on automatic pilot, Sam pulled up to a pump one row over from the FBI van and killed the engine before asking with trepidation, "What was he really?"

"A runaway Archangel masquerading as a pagan god," Samael grinned at whatever look was on Sam's face. "Yeah, that probably would have been my reaction if someone had told me that right off the bat instead of how I originally found out."

"I have so many questions right now," Sam said, scrambling to get out of the car along with Samael.

"How about I get us some coffee while you fill up, and then I'll answer them on the way?" When Sam hesitated, Samael paused, then came around to the otherside of the Impala and touched his hand. "I'm not going anywhere, Sam. I promise."

"I know, just..." Sam swallowed and resolutely didn't look at the trunk. "Could you fill up while I get the coffee? I don't..."

"Yeah," Samael nodded. "Sure, go ahead. I'll keep 'em safe for you."

"Thanks," Sam mumbled, trying and failing not to be embarrassed over how easy it was for the Archangel to read him. It shouldn't be a surprise - Samael _was_ him, more or less - but it was still weird and uncomfortable, mostly in how uncomfortable it _wasn't_. To cover, he tossed Samael the keys, not the least surprised when the other caught them easily, and hurried into the gas station to get them both coffee.

They had a long drive ahead of them.


End file.
